From out of the Chaos

My favorite approach to figure painting is to leap into the process without hesitation. No preliminary drawings or daydreaming allowed! For this painting, the background was created beforehand by placing random marks and washes until a density of yellow hazy atmosphere is obtained. The canvas languished in my studio for nearly a year until the day I created this image. Somehow, the time was right, the surface was ready...like a wine that had come of age. I brought it to my model session with no doubt that it would be the chaos from which some kind of poetry would grow. The vertical thrust of the canvas suggested a standing pose, but the real inspiration was the dynamic pose of the model, who is a dancer.


Seeing how this painting appeared in it's earliest stage is exciting to me even now.


A few jagged lines suggest her movement without becoming too fixed or "perfect". I love working this way because it is accompanied by a real burst of energy, bravura and passion. As I squint to discern the visual pattern of light and shadow, I scrub in a luminous crimson wash to represent the darkness that seems to envelop her. The black wash on our left begins to define her light shape. At this stage, she resembles a spirit, an abstraction, but I do not stop here. My heart pounds. I always felt both liberated (and a bit guilty) when I began paintings this way. Shouldn't I be more concerned about clarity? Shouldn't my drawing skills be more controlled? Then I began finding X-rays of underpaintings by Titian and Velasquez where they began this way in the late Renaissance and Baroque periods. In an age of mathematical grids and royal patronage, they still let their brushes flow.



The next step is to focus. I begin with the face, which is built up with planes of structure which are gently softened together at their points of contact. Look how many edge variations I am employing. A few precious edges are left hard and sharp, but most dissolve and bleed into the areas surrounding them. I am careful to paint her features as they actually appear from across the room, not as detailed distractions. The overall quality of the skull, that is the bone structure, is most important here. The eye sockets appear deep and there is no defined eye, no actual glint of light. Just an indication of lid. The shadow under the nose falls across the lower face. The lips emerge from the forms of the muzzle, they are not pasted on the surface. The hairline comes and goes,allowing the strength of the nose and the light on the upper cheek to come forward. Less is more. Now I move down to the ribs and breasts.



Paying attention to the light source, each individual plane of the breasts is stated with a descriptive stroke of paint. The form appears to receed as cool green grey is added. See how the general shadow on the flesh is a warm sienna. Areas where bone comes close to the surface appear cooler. Also, the form appears to receed as cool green grey is added. The "lights" of her flesh are a very cool bit of blue added to white. I blend very slowly, trying to maintain the clarity of each decision. You can almost count the brushstrokes.



On to the arms. Every stroke is actually a drawing decision. This way of painting is not "filling in the space between the lines". There are no lines! It feels more like sculpting. See how the random colors of the background peek through or are subdued as I go along. I love the hair...



Total figure painting time thus far: Three hours.




Creating her fallen gown demands that a suggestion of the covered legs beneath be indicated. Alternating slashes of warm and cool violet are arranged as simply as possible, with only a single slash of light at the top. Again, notice the yellow wash of the background, allowed to show through to provide a unity, as well as a compliment to the violet. The rest of the cloth falls into soft middle values and finally into a muted shadow. I add a blast of cobalt blue near the bottom to enhance the temperature shift. The gown and the process of refining the fusion with the airy space around the form takes an additional hour of painting. The hands become a three hour delicate game of hide and seek, alternating between structure and mere indication. The hint of knuckle, the thrust of the gesture are more tasteful than tiny details. I decide to leave the vague background as it began: a chaotic wash, from which she boldly emerges. Here is the finished painting:


[The Source by John Paul Thornton]

Rattle

One of the most meaningful sights I have seen with my eyes, has been my father holding my daughter tenderly in his arms. My father is a gentle, complex man who has recently been battling cancer. My daughter is a radiant child full of affection and vigour.

While art history is packed with paintings depicting mothers and their children, the image of a man holding a small infant remains rare. To experience this interaction, to have it signify for me not only a vital part of my own life, but a rich reference to the life of any man who has held a delicate child, gives full power to the human figure as a symbol of spiritual signifigance and a subject without equal in my painting.

To attempt to conceptualize this image, or to abstract it into something that reflects less than it's direct impact upon my heart would be deceitful and self consciously apologetic.

I am proud that my painting has been featured as the Fall 2006 cover of "Rattle- Poetry for the 21st Century" published by The Frieda C. Fox Family Foundation.



The image used is actually a detail of a full-sized portrait, which is shown in the book as well along with additional original paintings. I was very pleased to receive an advance copy of the book, and I must say that the printing is gorgeous and the poetry in the book's pages (written by poets from around the country) is thoughtful and intimate. I am very proud of the end results and grateful to all who thought of me as a contributing artist.

Information on how to order this book can be found by clicking on this link.





Here is the featured portion of the full painting called "Grandpa's Cure".

Flesh and Luminosity

Earlier this year I did a portrait demonstration for an audience of about fifty people at the Fine Artists Factory in Pasadena, California.

I photographed each stage and wanted to share them with those of you who love the way oilpaint can communicate flesh, depth and light. For artists, this kind of painting experience is akin to savoring a meal, enjoying taste after taste. It is also like meditating on music, focusing on the way each note relates to the overall impact upon a listener's nervous system. Done in the privacy of a studio, painting can feel relaxing or even painstakingly controlled. But performed in front of a crowd as an instructional process while speaking, a certain directness must rule. Add to that the strict time limit of two hours, and the experience becomes heart pounding.


I had Toni, one of the top figure models in Los Angeles pose for me. Afer laying in a transparent wash of alizarin crimson, yellow ochre and a touch of ivory black, I began a loose drawing with a brush focusing on large proportions and structure. Because I will be painting with big shapes and masses of color, the drawing does not need to be refined. In fact, a precise drawing would create a different kind of painting experience for me, forcing me to tiptoe around the portrait. About ten minutes was spent on the drawing here, with me describing every observation.

For my palette I am using only four tubes of paint: Alizarin Crimson, Yellow Ochre, Ivory Black and Titanium White Classico Oil Paint.I am using a big #12 Brush.


I begin with what I consider the most difficult passage in the portrait: the eye-socket in shadow. Dealing with these darks and middle valued areas will help me create the large masses that carry much of the image. I save the lights for last, leaving the canvas blank in these aresa until I am ready for them. The beginning stages of laying in my big shapes is always a rush for me. The painting always appears strange to my eye, but in my mind I can visualize the final outcome even from these early few strokes of paint. As I squint, each area on Toni's face is carefully observed, related to an adjacent value and translated by me as a plane. Each plane is then translated as a brushstroke.






It's been about fifteen minutes of painting, and the audience (and I) all breathe a sigh of relief... The hardest passages are done. I can continue with confidence that the overall structure is working, and that the delicate reflective light is being communicated. Notice how the features are not detailed in any way at this stage.



Now I boldly lay in the darks of the hair, and paint the way the hair relates to the darkness of the background. As I do this, the audience gives a collective "Ahhh!"
The darkness causes the reflective light on the face to take on it's luminous character. The face is primarilly middle value!



Time for a ten minute break. The model stretches and I prepare for the next sitting. Total painting time so far: thirty minutes.



More airy background and a burst of alizarin crimson to enliven the glow of the light hitting the far side of the face. I do not sense a cut out hard-edged contour back there...

I am a Venetian painter at heart when I paint this way. Washes, unrefined passages, free color effects and varied edges are my choices.



I develop the chest and neck area...
The "greens" in the flesh are actually yellow ochre, black and white.
The "blues" in the background are actually just mixtures of black and white.



Time to move throughout the rest of the painting...and then return to the face to give her complexity and definition. The background, the hair, the arm, dress and expressive hand all develop quickly and simply. The blending of edges is very important. As you can see, I use precious few hard edges in my work. Finally everything begins to "fuse" as the unified image I intended.



Near the end, I address the drawing one final time. (Every stroke is "drawing"), but now it's time to pull out a smaller brush and be precise where needed. I carefully reshape the chin ...


I create the hand with masses and shapes. Then, with a few dashes of line, fingers are suggested. I let the thumb merge into the chest to keep the area from getting too liney. I have fun with the diminishing pinky. The dress and the anatomy of the arm come with refinement from a small brush.

Only now do I prepare for the adding of the lights.



This thin strip along the far side of the face is my true focal point, the area of clarity. A combination of crisp strokes floating in a soft haze of light will create depth, suggest the features and remain consistent with the rest of the painting. My goal here is to not impress the viewer with how much work I have done, but rather, how much work I refrained from doing to create her expression and sense of life.


[In the Light by John Paul Thornton]


After describing every stroke and subtle smear, I finish with a final highlight on her eyelid. My patient audience cheers. I wipe the sweat from my own brow. It's been two hours from the initial laying down of my wash. I sign the painting. Time for a beer.

The Spirit of Children

["Where To Now?" By David Andres Kietzman]



Visitors entering the gallery at Avenue 50 Studio in Highland Park, Los Angeles, were met with a space lit with candles and decorated with vases of marigolds. Groups slowly moved from piece to piece, or lingered to absorb the unapologetically heavy content.
An art show about remembering the souls of dead children? Most gallery directors would never approach such a theme for purely commercial reasons. Others might try but would instead produce a show laden with treacle, diverting the viewer from responses deeper and more constructive than tears and grief.

Kathy Mas-Gallegos is the well-known Director of Avenue 50 studio. She has approached this difficult theme with dignity, poetry and dry-eyed honesty, currating an exhibition that relates to the Mexican celebration of Dias De Los Muertos while providing social reflection and urgency. Ten artists were asked to produce work that commemorates, celebrates or mourns children and youth who have died an untimely death due to preventable disease, gang violence, abuse, and/or war. Ultimately this is an emotionally wrenching show.


The full name of the exhibition is "Miccailhuitontli - Spirit of the Children."

Say "Mick-Hail-Wheat-Tont-Lee", and you are pronouncing a word that dates from Aztec times. As Director of Avenue 50 Studio, Kathy Mas-Gallegos posted this descriptive statement about the theme of the show and it's origins:

"“Miccailhuitontli -— Spirit of the Children, a Mejica traditional celebration of DiŒa de los Angelitos.
According to the system of beliefs in deities particularly of the Mejica Aztecs, gods ruled parts of the earth, heavens and underground. Along with this, there were times during the year at which they honored these gods or the people they served. Miccailhuitontli represents a period of time in which deceased children were held in reverence. Miccailhuitontli was presided over by the goddess Mictecacihuatl, lady of the dead.

Eventually under the rule of the Spanish, Mejica tradition gave way to what we now know as the ceremonies of the days of the dead. In Mexico today, as perhaps in other parts of the world, there is a day to mourn and honor deceased children, as there is a day to mourn and honor deceased adults.
As the tradition goes in Mexico, paths are strewn with marigold petals leading to the house of the deceased child so that the soul can find its way back to its home and mingle once again, through spirit, with friends and loved ones.

As malevolent conditions in our world intensify, affecting the spirit and consciousness of our children - our future - is being destroyed. We honor these fallen children by bringing to the forefront those conditions that have wrought havoc in their young lives: war, gang violence, hatred, abuse, and preventable disease. We honor these fallen children in the hope that someone, or two or three, will hear and understand that only through determined action will crimes against children significantly decrease."


I was invited to contribute works, along with Edith and Rob Abeyta, Roberto L. Delgado, Kathi Flood, Clement Hanami, David Andreˆs Kietzman, Betsy Lohrer Hall, Ricardo Munoz, and Mark Vallen.

Betsy Lohrer Hall Dominates a main wall with what appears at first to be the installation of a shower of leaves, or many hanging branches of a weeping willow. Her "Lost and Missing Tree" is actually hundreds of squares of paper. Upon each the artist has hand-written the individual names, ages and causes of death of Iraqi children whose lives were taken during the last few years during warfare. Adding beauty and further heartbreak, the backs of each scrap are printed with designs borrowed from artworks looted from the Baghdad National Museum. The work speaks elloquently about the idea of loss...loss of a generation and of a culture. There is an inescapable connection that Hall had made with each of the names. The papers they are hand-written on are like little post-it notes...They are little reminders we make to ourselves about items we need desperately to remember.

Mark Vallen presents "Child Of War", an intimate work which hinges greatly upon precision and delicacy. As a realist painter, he unerringly depicts a single face of a young boy bearing an expression of fatigue, betrayal and spiritual damage. Vallen's "Child of War" could belong to dozens of cultures, but the artist's timely statement reminds viewers about the specifically incomprehensible civilian death toll mounting in the Iraqi War. Mark Vallen's choice to create a painting in his polished traditional style (reflecting an admiration of Renaissance masters) provides the viewer no escape from the dedication and proficiency of the artist's hand or intent. Indeed, to linger so sensitively over the subtle value changes of the boy's nostril, cheek and lips implies a deliberateness that casual sketchiness cannot compete with. Thus, the boy is given the same respect that might have been lavished upon the portrait of a young royal Duke at the hands of fourteenth century German painter Albrect Durer. Questions of worthiness and status are cast aside.

Kathi Flood has offered a work honoring the soul of a young local boy who was swept away by storm waters. Through text, we learn that his rescue was hindered by the lack of effective equiptment by authorities. It was only through his loss that proper poles and extention devices came into use. The playful appearance of the installation disolves as viewers are coaxed to recall their own memories of rescues caught on home video which top breathless news reports each winter.



["Portrait of a missing child" By John Paul Thornton]


As for my own offering,I included five portraits of missing children, along with the disposable "Have You Seen Me?" mailers that inspired them. I too find that my somewhat obsessive continuation of this body of work, (I have created nearly four hundred painted portraits of America's missing children) reflects a kind of compulsive devotion which links the ten artists in the show together. Thank you to the many viewers I met at the opening night who were moved by my work. Thank you also to Kathy Mas-Gallegos, the Director of Highland Park's Avenue 50 Studio for this show about art and courage.

Messages From Another Time

The spine of the old book was tattered, thick and covered with bold words:

“NOB U Delima Likovnih Umetnika Jugoslavije”

I had to climb a ladder to retrieve it from the top shelf of the art section in a favorite used book store I frequent every time I’m in Hollywood. Some people go to health spas, or meditation retreats, or brothels. I go to used book shops. They are like temples to me.

Over the years I have obsessively developed a juicy art book collection containing an especially gorgeous array of rare folios on painting and drawing. I believe I have a keen sense about a book even from the look of it’s spine, and I still get a primitive thrill from the simple act of discovering such a book, especially when it is stuck high above my head on a shelf nine feet from the floor. There is a sense of locating a missing friend, or finding a piece of humanity’s great puzzle. This is my compulsion.

When the book was finally in my hands, I took in the feel of the worn canvas cover, the heavy water damage and even the aura of the book itself. ( Yes, books have auras.) Then I read the title on the spine again:

“NOB U Delima Likovnik Umetnika Jugoslavije.”

I opened the first pages, and found them all to be printed in what seemed to be...Yugoslavian. The publishing date was 1958. Like someone savoring the slow opening of a wrapped present, I thumbed past the text to the plates. What met me was image after image of human suffering, and strength in the face of dispair. I stood in the bookshop aisle for ten minutes, returning to the beginning page and assessing the prints with admiration and care. Paintings and sculptures of wounded soldiers, old women in kerchiefs, torn landscapes and huddled children filled the pages, affecting me with so many intense emotions. I had not expected this. The intimacy and often hurried appearance of the drawings gave testament to the fact that many of the works featured within the yellowed paged were dated 1942 through 1945. Obviously these were images created during the second world war.

Ah, I see you have found the book,” said the grizzled shopkeeper. He had been watching me carefully. “It takes a special someone to appreciate that one, and I have seen hundreds of people just flip through it’s pages and then jam it back in the shelf. But not you. You cannot put down.” He came around the counter and put on a pair of glasses that had been hanging from a tarnished chain around his fleshy neck.

I told him that I thought the book was incredible, and asked if he could give me some background about it.

“I think it translates as 'Yugoslavian painters and sculptors reflecting on the struggle of world war two'. It‘s a difficult book. Such images of sadness...and it‘s all still happening today, you know. You can still see these images on CNN. Sixty years have passed, and we are still learning this, over and over. Different countries, different people, same lesson. ”

For a third time, I flipped through the pages, while the two of us commented or drew a heavy breath at the sight of each of the two hundred and seventy paintings, sculptures and sketches from almost a hundred artists. Many of them dated from the height of the war years and seemed to have been drawn from actual observed scenes. Mesmorized, I bought the book.

I think of these artists as time travelers, sending their messages to our twenty-first century as a way of warning us, or at least linking us, to their own time of darkness and hope. The old book could be our own, and the words on the spine could be printed in countless languages.

I have included images taken from this remarkable find. I was distressed to think that these artist’s expressions were all but lost to the world, and that if the book had been neglected by me or had been ultimately discarded, the recording of their visions and feelings would be lost as well. When I purchased the book, it was for the memory of these artists, and to the communities and families that they depicted. They are us. They are the images of our own soldiers and mothers, children and grandparents.

These images may move you in their bleakness, or inspire you by their authenticity. They were made by forgotten Yugoslavian artists who would not close their eyes at what they saw. They did not ignore what they felt. They talk to us now, from across time.












Take a moment to read about The Country and People of Yugoslavia.
All Images in this post are from "NOB U Delima Likovnih Umetnika Jugoslavije" Published in Belgrade, 1958